


Never / Doubt

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Thor Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, doubt gnaws at Thor’s heart like Nidhogg feasting on a corpse, its bloodied talons tearing apart what was once pristine and whole. Now, he wonders if the spiteful, hateful creature that mocks and sneers at him is the core and not the shell, that in falling through the space between the stars Loki was stripped not of his reason, but of his falsity, that he is not lost but found, and that this feral monster is what was lurking behind his brother’s honey-sweet smiles all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never / Doubt

Thor pauses in the shadowy hallway that leads to the cells and leans his head against the cool stone. He is, as yet, concealed in darkness, and from here he could, if he wished, watch the lean, dark figure in the warded cell without being seen by either the prisoner or the unobtrusive guards.

It is strange to be the one who is hidden, the watcher and not the watched, and he wonders if Loki ever felt this curious sense of not really being here at all whenever he used to sneak and spy as part of his pranks. He feels half a ghost, entirely separate from the doings of those who move in the bright white light that suffuses the cell, able to slip away or absorb all as he pleases. It is a strange sort of power, and one that suits him ill.

Shadows and secrecy always suited Loki well though, and in the blinding light of his cell, Loki is exposed. Stripped of his armour, he looks small and fragile, curled in a corner and thumbing idly through a book. It is a lie, of course; even in this small space and with his magic restrained, Loki remains a weapon, sharp-edged and lethal, and entirely too fond of cutting those around him just to see them bleed. The only difference is that now, as before his fall, he must rely on his tongue and wit to deal out damage, having being deprived of the means to work out his rage on the bodies of those who once loved and cared for him.

Whilst on Midgard Thor had clung to the hope that his brother was wounded in mind and body, sickened and broken by the unexpected revelation of his blood and the terrible fall through the celestial void. This was a madness, clearly, dangerous and disturbing, but one that would surely pass, could be healed and soothed and washed away to reveal Loki’s true self, scarred perhaps but not beyond reach. He had been sure, so sure, that while his brother must be stopped in his rampage, and punished for the great wrongs he had done, it would be but a chapter in their history, and in time, in Asgard, Loki would find his way home, and that Thor would find in him again the man who did not need to say never doubt that I love you, because Thor never had and never would.

But now? Now, doubt gnaws at Thor’s heart like Nidhogg feasting on a corpse, its bloodied talons tearing apart what was once pristine and whole. Now, he wonders if the spiteful, hateful creature that mocks and sneers at him is the core and not the shell, that in falling through the space between the stars Loki was stripped not of his reason, but of his falsity, that he is not lost but found, and that this feral monster is what was lurking behind his brother’s honey-sweet smiles all along.

For that is the worst of it: he cannot tell, now, which is the lie and which the truth. Loki tells him, over and over, that every moment he cherished, every loving embrace and fantastic adventure, every heartbeat of their long, entangled lives together his brother did not share his joy or return his love, and did not mean even one of the promises and confidences they exchanged; that instead, always, Loki hated and envied and plotted against him, and Thor was simply too blind and self-absorbed to see it.

Is that the truth? That the love between them that Thor took to be as certain and unremarkable as the warmth of the sun and the cerulean expanse of the sky was always a lie, a trick, an act of wilful malice as the beast sharpened his claws and waited for the opportunity to strike? Or is Loki’s venom now the lie, as perverting and destroying their shared past is the only weapon his brother has left in his captivity?

He cannot trust anything Loki says or does, this he knows. But if Loki always lies, then is his insistence that he has lied all his life also a lie? It is as puzzling a paradox as any their tutor set them, and Thor never had Loki’s skill in following the twists and turns of such things.

Thor knows what he feels. He loves Loki, still, though that love is now a barbed and blood-stained chain around his heart, and seems to be of no use to either of them. He is angry, so angry, at what Loki has done: to their family, to Jotunheim and Midgard and Asgard, to Thor, to himself. He is heartsick and lonely and hurting, and would give anything to have his brother with him again, at his side and guarding his back, with the pure and perfect trust Thor had so taken for granted.

Thor is weary. So, so weary, and he sees in himself the slow and stately presence of a King, the same gravitas and dignity that is so admired in his father, and it is a bitter thing to finally realise that it is not the weight of the crown that makes him so, but the heavy burden of duty and responsibility, and the dreadful, dreadful weight of hindsight, of seeing all that he did wrong, though he did not know it then. The hopeless, looping paths of what might have been are familiar to Thor now, and the fear of making the same mistakes dogs his heels and slows his gait.

He had thought, as a brash and arrogant Prince, that there could be nothing greater than being a King, of holding absolute power in his own palms, able to do anything, anything at all. But now Thor sees his father’s shoulders slump and the light in his eye fade away, and he is, more than anything, grateful that he can, for a little while longer, cede to a higher power when he cannot see his way.

Loki laughs at him for this, makes much of how the mighty Thor is fallen, that he would let a mere mortal command him in battle, that he still bows his head to a father who has proven no more wise than most when it comes to his sons. Thor is tired of Loki’s laughter, of his bitterness and fury, tired of fighting and striving – for what? For a man who never was? For yet another of Loki’s illusions, this one surpassing all the rest?

But what is his alternative? To accept Loki’s words, and turn his back on Asgard’s most unrepentant prisoner, and thus prove that he never had a brother, that he was merely a dupe, a fool for a millennia entire? Is that not another victory for the trickster, making a wreckage of all that Thor holds dear?

No. Thor _wants_ to have a brother. He wants to know that though their bonds have been strained and frayed, that love still holds true, that whether the man in the cell will admit it or not, once they were more than they are now. He has to believe that something can be built from the chaos they find themselves in, whether it is salvage or something new.

Doubt is a dragon that gnaws at his heart. But he has slain many monsters, and this is but more one battle he cannot afford to lose. For he is Thor, Prince of Asgard, thunder-bringer and lightning-skald, and he will not admit defeat this day.

He steps into the light, blood singing, heart pounding.

“Hello, brother.”


End file.
